


Know Not Any Stain

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Intrigue, Recovery, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4419425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh">evilmaniclaugh</a>’s prompt “Athos actually loses his commission for being drunk while on duty.” </p><p>When the worst happens, Athos has to face up to his alcoholism if he’s ever going to be in with a chance of winning his commission back - but the regiment too is soon to be in disgrace, and it may be that as a civilian Athos is the only one in a position to protect the Queen. (Set between series 1 and 2).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When the door to Treville's office finally opened, Aramis and Porthos shot to their feet. They'd been waiting outside for almost an hour, desperate to know what was happening inside. They'd even tried pressing their ears to the door, but the voices inside were muted, and they could make nothing out. 

They'd told themselves that it must be a good sign that Treville wasn't shouting, but seeing Athos' pale face now as he stood before them, they knew whatever had happened, it was not good news.

Athos swayed slightly as if stunned, hardly seeing them at first. Behind him the door clicked firmly shut, Treville deciding that to face Aramis and Porthos right now would be a needless argument in the making. And besides, this was of Athos' own doing. It was therefore up to him to break the news. 

"Athos? What happened?" Aramis asked urgently. "Was he angry? Are you to be punished?"

"Yes." Athos' voice was faint, as if there was no breath left in him. "You could say that, most definitely."

"Flogging?" Aramis winced. "Not latrine duty?"

"Where's your pauldron?" Porthos demanded, his sharp eyes noting Athos' bare shoulder.

Athos wouldn't meet his gaze, and Porthos and Aramis exchanged a worried glance. 

"He hasn't suspended you?" Aramis demanded. "He can't! How long for?"

"No." Athos swallowed. "No, not suspended."

"Then what?" Aramis begged, frightened by the distant look on Athos' face. He knew that look, but normally it was on soldiers dragged from the field of battle, men who had been shocked beyond their mind's ability to process.

"Treville has - requested that I resign my commission," Athos told them, his voice shaking slightly but knowing he owed them the truth. 

"What?" Porthos yelled, and Athos flinched. "I hope you damn well refused!"

"I did not," Athos said. "The alternative was for him to have me stripped of my rank and leave the regiment in disgrace. He has allowed to me to retain at least some shred of dignity, which he did not have to, and is a kindness I do not deserve."

Aramis and Porthos looked at each other, and as one barged through the door behind him into Treville's office.

Finding himself alone, Athos wandered out of the building in a daze. He felt sick to his stomach and paused by the benches in the courtyard, intending to sit for a while until he could breathe properly again. Looking about him though, the knowledge that he no longer belonged here made him flinch inwardly. It would surely not be long before the news of his dismissal spread, and right now he could not cope with the curious and scornful stares of his former comrades.

He stumbled out through the arch into the street, his feet guiding him home purely by instinct, his thoughts turned inward. The worst thing about it all was that he had been the architect of his own demise. It had been his own self-destructive behaviour that had caused this, his own certainty that he had things under control that lead him to ignore the repeated rebukes of his friends. 

Having reached his lodgings with no memory of the streets in between, Athos collapsed into a chair, head in his hands. Aramis and Porthos had both warned him again and again about his drinking, had covered for him, had taken duties he could not manage, and never once let him down. And this was how he repaid them - with shame and infamy. 

Even now when all was lost they were still arguing on his behalf. Athos sighed. He was certain in his heart that Treville would not change his mind. He had laid the facts out to Athos all too baldly. 

He unbuckled his sword, hanging it over the back of his chair. Withdrew the dagger from its sheath, and the pistol from his belt, laying them out on the table before him. By rights he should have handed them back to Treville, they had all three been drawn from the armoury. But Treville had let him at least walk out like a man.

A man, but a Musketeer no longer. 

Remorse and despair tightened in his chest, and Athos struggled against the overwhelming urge to simply burst into tears. He would not be so weak, and self-pity was a luxury he had forfeited.

Athos picked up the pistol again, running his fingers along the barrel. It would be a simple matter to load it, to hold it to his head. It would be quick, probably even painless. And the shame, the agony he was feeling would be gone. He had few qualms over the thought that such an act would damn him, was certain enough his soul was already tarnished beyond redemption. 

But if he did it here - almost certainly it would be Aramis or Porthos who found him, and he would not wish such a thing on them. And, after all, were not such thoughts of death just another form of indulgent self-pity? 

He stared at the weapon, lost in thought, and it was in such a position that Aramis and Porthos found him when they appeared in his doorway a short time later.

"I'll take that, I think," Aramis declared, drawing the pistol carefully out of Athos' hand and tucking it into his own belt.

Coming out of his reverie Athos looked up as if surprised to see them there, and realised from the look of wary horror on their faces that they guessed at the direction of his thoughts. 

Athos sighed. "If I was going to end myself, I would have done it years ago," he concluded. "No, I must live with what I have done. I will not do away with myself over this."

"Nor seek it through other means," Porthos put in sternly, seeing Athos as being quite capable of wading unarmed into a brawl for precisely that purpose.

Athos gave him a ghost of a smile. "You should have been a lawyer, my friend." He gave a heavy sigh. "But no, very well. I shall not seek death. You have my word."

Porthos patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked, feeling it was massively inadequate as a question, but not knowing what else to say.

Athos hardly knew how to answer. He felt numb, as if the reality of it all hadn't truly sunk in. "Regardless of what trouble I have caused for myself, I've let you both down," he sighed, hardly able to meet their gaze. "And I dare not even ask your forgiveness."

"Since when do you have to ask?" Aramis retorted. "This is us, Athos."

"If you think we'd forsake you, you need a good slap," Porthos added, and despite his low spirits Athos almost smiled.

"Treville - would not be moved," Aramis confessed. "We did our best. I'm sorry Athos."

Athos shook his head. "Thank you both for trying. But he was quite resolute and I am not surprised. It was my own actions that have brought me to this pass, and I must face the consequences alone."

"Not quite alone," Porthos said, and Athos looked up questioningly. There had been something in his tone more than a simple declaration of support. 

"We may have - resigned our own commissions," Aramis admitted. "He refused to budge, and so did we." 

Athos looked horrified, rising to his feet in appalled disbelief. "No. Tell me you're joking," he begged.

Aramis shook his head, and Athos realised for the first time that neither of them were wearing their pauldrons. He went pale.

"You can't for one minute imagine I would want this?"

"Where you go, we go," said Porthos stubbornly. "All for one, remember?"

"And do you so easily forget the other half of that?" Athos demanded. "Porthos, becoming a Musketeer was the proudest moment in your life, you have the best heart of all of us, I will not see you give it up. Not for me." He took looked from Porthos to Aramis with an expression of stricken misery. "I've ruined my own life, I beg of you do not make me bear the responsibility of having ruined yours."

"What's done is done," Aramis said obstinately, but Athos shook his head.

"Go to Treville, go back to him now, tell him - tell him it was a mistake, that you've changed your minds, you wish to withdraw your resignations." 

"We should maybe wait till he's calmed down a bit," Porthos muttered.

"Go now," Athos urged. "Before he tells anyone else of your actions, and it becomes harder to undo."

"He might not take us back," Aramis warned. 

"He will." Athos pressed his hand urgently. "I know he will. You can at least ask. Please Aramis."

Aramis and Porthos exchanged a look and relented. "Very well."

Athos sagged. "Thank you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never wanted any of this." He looked lost and on the verge of tears, and Porthos could bear it no longer, but flung his arms around him in a bear hug. Aramis added his own arms to the embrace and for a long moment, ignoring Athos' half-hearted protests, they held him tightly between them.

When he finally pushed them gently back, Athos looked slightly better, as if he'd drawn strength from them.

"Go," he persisted quietly. "Before it's too late."

"One of us should stay with you," Porthos objected, still uneasy at the way they'd found him. 

"I'll be fine." Athos ushered them gently but firmly towards the door. "I need some time alone. Grant me that, at least."

Reluctantly they left him, making their way back to the garrison. Outside Treville's office they looked at each other. 

"Well this is going to be embarrassing," Aramis murmured. 

At their rather hesitant knock Treville bade them enter, then did a double take when he saw who it was.

"Well?" Treville demanded gruffly, staring at the two uncomfortable looking men standing before him. "What do you two want now?"

Aramis cleared his throat, but no words would come out.

"Athos won't let us resign," Porthos blurted.

"So we were - wondering," Aramis added hesitantly. "If you would - concede to - that is - "

Treville sat back in his chair and glared at them both. "You know what worries me the most about this entire debacle?" he sighed. "That even when he's not here you still take more notice of Athos than me." He pulled open a drawer, tossing their pauldrons onto the desk. "Go on, get out of my sight, both of you."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir." Aramis scooped them up hastily before Treville changed his mind and they made their escape.

\--

Athos looked up as they came in, his eyes immediately going to their shoulders. When he found they were both once more displaying the Musketeers' insignia, he relaxed, getting to his feet to greet them.

"Thank you," he said softly.

"We'd have stood by it," Porthos muttered. 

"I know." Athos rested a hand on his shoulder. "And I can't express how much that means to me, and don't for a minute think that I don't appreciate the gesture. But I won't see you punished for my mistakes."

"What will you do?" Aramis asked.

Athos sighed. "I don't know. I haven't been able to think that far ahead. Something will come up. I won't starve, not for a while at least."

"You know," Aramis mused, "sooner or later someone's going to have to tell d'Artagnan."

For two months now d’Artagnan had been away on secondment from the regiment, Treville having thought it prudent to give him a first hand taste of actual soldiering, albeit in the relatively low risk environment of border patrols.

Athos' face fell. However undeserving of it he felt, he was perfectly aware of d'Artagnan's hero-worship of him, and couldn't bear to think how this news would hurt him.

"He will be so disappointed in me," Athos said gloomily. "I cannot face it."

"Disappointed? This is d'Artagnan we're talking about," Porthos declared. "He'll probably challenge Treville to a duel over it."

Athos looked up, a surprised smile startled out of him and Aramis reached over to pat his shoulder.

"D'Artagnan loves you," he murmured. "As do we. If only we could convince you to see that."

Athos coloured a little, but to Aramis' satisfaction made no protest.

"Will you write to him?" Porthos asked. Athos shook his head. 

"He has enough to worry about right now. I will tell him when he returns. At least that way I can stop him doing anything rash," he added, and they laughed.

"I'm glad to hear from that you plan on staying in Paris, at any rate," Aramis said as they settled round the table, having been afraid Athos would leave them completely. 

Athos sighed. "Where else would I go? There is nothing for me but painful memories at Pinon, and I imagine little left of the house itself."

"You could always take up your rightful place at court," Porthos said mischievously, and Athos groaned. 

"Have I not been punished enough? Can you imagine it?"

"Yes, and it's hilarious," Porthos agreed happily, glad that Athos was almost smiling again. 

"There's always the Red Guard," Aramis suggested with a grin. "In fact, letting Treville know you're considering that would probably be enough to make him reinstate you."

Athos gave him a pained smile. "Sadly I think nothing short of a miracle would make him reconsider. No, once more I have ruined my own life, and I must suffer the consequences."

His eyes wandered to the bottle of brandy on his shelf. There was nothing stopping him from drinking himself into oblivion now, and the thought was tempting. He certainly needed a drink, the events of the day had taken their toll and his hands were shaking badly.

He got to his feet and returned to the table carrying the bottle, which he placed in front of Porthos. 

"Take this away with you?" Athos asked quietly in response to Porthos' enquiring look. "I gave you my word I would not seek my own destruction, and I suspect it lies in that bottle far more seductively than in pistol or dagger." 

Porthos nodded understanding, and set the brandy on the floor by his chair, out of Athos' line of sight. "Is there anything more we can do?" he asked seriously. 

Athos sighed. "The way I see it, I have two choices. I can let this be the ending of me, or I can take it like a man, as a well-deserved lesson. Treville made me face a lot of hard facts this morning, and not one of them was untrue, or unfair. I have been a disgrace to this uniform, and I have allowed the two of you to hide my faults for too long." He held up a hand to forestall their protests. 

"You have asked me if you can help. If you really mean that, then the answer is yes. I need to get free of this compulsion, this weakness in me that hides constantly in a bottle. I have tried before, and failed. It is not an easy thing to do, nor a pretty one to witness. But with your help, perhaps I could finally manage it?"

Aramis and Porthos both agreed immediately and Athos nodded his grave thanks. Knowing that even now after everything that had happened he still retained their staunch love and loyalty was about the only thing holding him together, and in turn it gave him the determination he needed not to let them down even further. 

"We should move to my rooms," Aramis said practically. "They're the most spacious, and Porthos and I will be able to make sure at least one of us is with you at all times, for as long as you need it."

"Will that be practical?" Athos asked in grateful surprise. "You both still have duties to perform, and I don't want to be the cause of getting you into trouble as well."

Aramis considered. "I'm sure if we tell Treville what we are about, he will be willing enough to assist. He cares for you more than he lets on."

Athos nodded in guilty recognition of this fact. "He gave me more chances than I deserved," he admitted. "And still I threw them all back in his face." He looked abruptly miserable again, and Porthos slapped him on the back.

"Cheer up. Nobody's dead, and where there's life there's hope. We'll dry you out and have you fighting fit in no time."

Athos managed a smile at Porthos' blithe reassurances. Despite knowing the magnitude of the task ahead of him, it was comforting to think he would not be facing it alone.

\--

They did as Aramis suggested, and moved into his lodgings. His rooms were on the ground floor with access to a secluded garden, and he advised them that his landlady was away, so they could make as much noise as they wanted.

Athos was glad of this, and knew that Aramis had made it clear mostly for his benefit. The next few days, he suspected, would probably involve a lot of shouting on his part, if not crying and begging. The thought of what lay ahead was humiliating and he almost turned tail and ran, only to find Porthos locking the front door and hanging the key around his neck.

"You walk out sober or not at all," he advised Athos with a grin that belied the seriousness of his words. 

None of them were taking this lightly, and knew full well that there was even a risk to Athos' life from such an undertaking. Aramis had warned him that a sudden and total stop could strain his system beyond its ability to cope, and that a gradual weaning off would be better. Athos had still opted for the more drastic measure, suspecting he would not have the willpower to manage anything else.

They settled in for the night, Aramis and Porthos making cheerful conversation with a determined persistence. Athos was mostly quiet but he appreciated their efforts at keeping his mind off things, and let their chatter wash over him with an air of distraction.

He'd had no alcohol since passing out half-dressed on his bed the night before, and other than a raging thirst that no amount of sweet water drawn from the well seemed to touch, and a tendency to fidget restlessly, Athos thought he wasn't doing too badly. At least until Porthos leaned over and placed a calming hand deliberately over his.

"What?" Athos stared at him, wondering if the constant movement of his hands had been irritating.

Porthos sighed. "Look what you've done."

Athos looked down and blinked. Without noticing, he'd picked at the cuticles of both hands until his fingers were stained red with blood. 

"Shit."

"You need a distraction," Aramis said. "Have you considered taking up knitting?"

Athos snorted, grateful to him for pricking the sudden bubble of tension. "Sorry," he muttered, self-consciously trying to hide his abused hands.

"It's alright you know," Porthos said quietly. "You don't have to pretend you're okay if you're not. Not with us."

"How _are_ you feeling?" Aramis asked sympathetically. 

"Jittery," Athos confessed. "But not overly bad. Not yet. Maybe I'll turn in. At least if I'm asleep I won't be thinking about things."

In the end they all decided this was a good idea, all three of them being rather worn out by the events of the day. It was agreed that Athos would share Aramis' bed, with Porthos sleeping on a paliasse on the far side of the room. 

Athos had offered to be the one relegated to the straw mattress on the grounds that as things progressed he would likely wake Aramis with night sweats and bad dreams, but they overruled him. 

"Things will become uncomfortable enough for you," Porthos said. "Besides, I've slept on a lot worse." He grinned. "Probably more risk of getting bitten from Aramis' mattress anyway."

Aramis had attempted to hit him with a warming pan at this point, and despite everything hanging over him Athos had lain down with a smile on his face.

Sleep though, did not prove easy to find and Athos lay awake for several hours listening to the quiet snores of his friends. When he did finally manage to fall asleep it was a restless slumber, plagued with half-formed dreams that weren't quite nightmares but more a building sense of anxiety.

He woke unrefreshed in the early dawn, heart pounding and skin bathed in sweat. Beside him, Aramis slept on undisturbed, and Athos slipped out of the bed. The front door was firmly locked, but he unlatched the door into the garden and walked out barefoot onto the small ornamental lawn. The scent of camomile drifted up to him and he took a steadying breath of the morning air, enjoying the coolness of the dew on his feet. 

They found him there two hours later, fast asleep under an apple tree with blossom in his hair. 

"Shame to wake him," Porthos said, looking down at Athos with a fond smile. "Looks like he's away with the fairies."

"We don't want him to catch his death of cold," Aramis pointed out. 

They compromised and wrapped Athos in blankets where he sat propped against the trunk, to his considerable surprise when he finally awoke.

He carried them back inside with a faint air of embarrassment, and joined them at the table. 

"Thank you," Athos said quietly, and they grinned at him.

"Thought you'd done a runner at first," Porthos laughed. "Till we found the door was still locked."

"I considered it," Athos admitted. "But I have to commit to this. It's the only way, if I want to regain any measure of self-respect."

Aramis patted him on the shoulder as he got to his feet. "I'm going to see Treville, and explain what we're doing," he said. "Porthos will stay with you." 

Athos nodded. "Thank you. Both of you. You don't know what this means to me. And I hope that nothing I say or do in the next few days makes you think badly of me. I warn you now, that I will probably say things I do not mean."

"Been ignoring you for years," Porthos grinned. "Nothing new."

Athos conceded a smile at that, and Porthos went with Aramis to the door, to let him out.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Aramis murmured. "Try and keep him distracted. It'll be worse if he just sits there dwelling on it."

Porthos nodded. "Don't you worry. I won't let any harm come to him." They clasped each other's arms, and Porthos relocked the door behind him.

\--

As the day went on Athos became noticeably jumpier and more fretful, unable to settle to anything and lashing out verbally at Porthos whenever he tried to make conversation. 

Porthos let this wash over him with good humour, only intervening when Athos actually tried to make a break for it, rattling the door with increasing desperation at finding it still locked.

Porthos insinuated himself between Athos and the door and looked at him with a certain stern sympathy. "Sit down," he instructed quietly.

Athos shook his head distractedly. "Let me out," he said in a low voice. "I can't do this Porthos, I thought I could but I was wrong, let me out."

"No. You're doing fine."

Athos shook his head again more vigorously. "I know how bad it's going to get. I can feel it. I can't do this. Please." 

Porthos sighed. "If you know how bad it's going to be, that means you've got further than this before?" he ventured. "On your own?"

Athos nodded miserably.

"Well then, you're not giving up yet then, are you."

Athos hesitated, and Porthos smiled at him. "I'm not letting you out, and you're not getting past me, so that's that. You want some air you can go in the garden."

"I _want_ not to feel this way," Athos said dejectedly. "I'm going crazy shut up here. I need a drink so badly it hurts." 

"I know," Porthos said softly. "And it'll get worse before it gets better. But it will get better. That's why you're doing this, remember?"

Athos gave a reluctant nod, and Porthos nodded back, satisfied. "So sit down."

\--

When Aramis returned in the early evening, Porthos let him in with a certain amount of relief.

"How's he been?" Aramis asked.

"A bit tetchy, but nothing I couldn't handle," Porthos said. "I was expecting him to be worse, to be honest. He feels rough, which is to be expected, and it's making him cross. But not a lot more than when he's hungover, so it's not exactly new territory."

Aramis shed his cloak while Porthos locked up again behind him.

"What the hell's he doing?" Aramis asked, staring at where Athos was absorbed with apparently taking out the entire contents of Aramis' store cupboard and putting it back again in a different order.

"He reckoned you need a better system," Porthos grinned. "So he's sorting out your cupboards." Aramis stared at him with an incredulous expression, and Porthos' grin widened with the amusement of a man who wasn't having his own possessions interfered with. "It gave him something to concentrate on," Porthos explained without remorse. "Something to keep his hands busy."

Aramis walked over and looked down at where Athos was lining up jars of dried pulses in rows of military straightness and snorted.

"Your cupboard was a mess," Athos said without looking up. "I'm improving your system."

"I didn't have a system," Aramis sighed.

"Well that was fairly obvious."

"I knew where everything was," Aramis snapped. "Pity we didn't stay in your rooms after all, you might have got bored enough to clean them."

Athos turned on him angrily, and the next couple of minutes descended into a raging argument that ended with Athos marching into Aramis' bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

"Was that really necessary?" Porthos protested.

Aramis gave him a sheepish smile. "Thought he might need to let off a bit of steam," he admitted. 

Porthos sighed. "I hate this."

"Oh come now, you know neither of us meant a word of it," Aramis promised him.

"Still." Porthos looked downcast and Aramis put an arm round him comfortingly. 

"You hungry?" 

"Yeah." Porthos brightened a little, and they both stared at the contents of the store cupboard, half of which was still arrayed across the floor. "Good luck finding anything though."

\--

They'd imagined the appetising cooking smells might have lured Athos back out of the bedroom but he didn't appear, and Porthos finally carried a bowl of soup in to him.

Athos was sitting curled on the bed with one of Aramis' books of poetry, and looked shamefaced when Porthos came in.

"I'm sorry," Athos said quietly, as Porthos set down the bowl and sat next to him.

"You don't have to say sorry Athos," Porthos told him. "You shout and scream at us all you want, we know you don't mean it."

Athos gave him a grateful smile, although he looked tired and weighed down.

"Brought you some supper," Porthos pointed out unnecessarily. "It's good. Even though Aramis made it."

Athos tried to raise a weak smile, but shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

Porthos frowned at him. "You've only had a bit of fruit all day. You need to eat something. Please? For me?" 

With a sigh, Athos picked up the bowl and started to eat. Satisfied, Porthos left him in peace.

When he collected the empty bowl again a while later, to his surprise Athos had got right into the bed and was curled up in a ball. In response to Porthos' concerned enquiry Athos admitted he had stomach cramps, and Porthos wondered guiltily if he shouldn't have given him quite so much after all.

This suspicion was born out about half an hour later when Porthos and Aramis, seated by the hearth in the parlour, suddenly heard sounds of miserable retching from the bedroom.

They looked at each other, both silently hoping the other would volunteer to go and check on him. Eventually Aramis sighed. "Come on."

They both went in and found Athos kneeling on the floor, having apparently tried to make it to the chamberpot and failed.

"Sorry," he rasped, as Porthos wiped his mouth with a damp cloth and helped him back up.

"Not to worry," Porthos said reassuringly. "On the bright side you managed to miss the bed. I think? Yeah. Come on, let's get you back in." He lifted the tumbled covers and got Athos settled again, promptly climbing in behind him and putting an arm round him. 

"You just go back to sleep," Porthos told him. "Aramis'll clean it up."

Aramis glared at him, suddenly realising why Porthos was being so solicitous of Athos. Porthos smirked at him unrepentantly and Aramis went to fetch a bucket of water.

By the time he'd finished washing off the floorboards Aramis realised another annoying fact. Porthos was now firmly resident in his bed, and judging by the loud and almost certainly fake snores he was producing, had no intention of moving.

Grumbling to himself on principle, although not really minding, Aramis settled down for the night on the makeshift bed in the corner. Porthos had been right, he mused. It had been relatively easy up to now. It wouldn't be long before things got a lot harder.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

Despite having initially fallen asleep relatively quickly Athos passed another restless night, waking often and finding it hard to get comfortable. 

The solid presence of Porthos next to him was undeniably comforting but also meant he was far too hot, and Athos pushed the covers back, tossing and turning for hours. He felt prickly and breathless, and eventually got up and staggered unsteadily outside into the pre-dawn cool. 

Winding the bucket up from the well nearly finished him off, and he collapsed to his knees by the low wall, cursing the fact his strength had deserted him. He tipped the bucket on its hook, slopping cold water over his head and shoulders thankfully with a complete disregard for the state of his nightshirt.

The temperature was a welcome shock, and for a blessed few minutes his head felt clear again. Soon though, he started to shiver and made his way back inside. He'd thought the warmth of the parlour would soon make him feel better, but despite peeling off his sodden nightshirt and wrapping himself in a rug from the settle, he couldn't stop shivering.

Aramis found him there not long afterwards, sitting by the embers in the hearth. He'd woken as Athos had left the room, heard him go outside and come back in again, but when Athos hadn't come back to bed he'd decided to investigate.

"Athos?" Aramis crouched down beside him. "Are you okay?"

Athos shook his head. "I was too hot. Now I can't even get warm," he confessed. 

Aramis felt his forehead, refraining from asking why Athos' hair was all wet. "You feel quite hot," he said. "I think you're feverish. All part of the reaction, I'm guessing." He fetched cushions and another blanket, and helped make Athos comfortable in front of the fire, which he stirred back up into a respectable blaze.

All this activity had finally woken Porthos, who stumbled out to peer at them blearily from the doorway. 

"Everything alright?"

"Athos isn't feeling too good," Aramis told him. "Go back to sleep, you're on duty tomorrow. I'll call if I need you."

Porthos gave a short nod and went back to bed. Aramis was right, they had a potentially very long vigil to wait out between them, and it made sense to sleep when they could. 

\--

By morning Athos was noticeably worse, and they helped him back into the warm blankets that Porthos had just vacated. He seemed barely aware of what was happening, and was still shivering violently no matter how many blankets they piled on. 

Athos' condition seemed to be deteriorating before their eyes, and by the time Porthos was ready to leave for the garrison he was half delirious, twice calling Aramis Thomas and struggling against the weight of bedclothes as if he thought he was being imprisoned. 

"I should stay," Porthos offered, worried about Athos' rapid decline. Aramis shook his head. 

"I'll manage. You don't want to get into trouble. There's no point in pushing Treville's good will too far, you never know when we'll need it."

Reluctantly Porthos left and Aramis returned to Athos' side, coaxing him to take some food. Half of it went on the floor, Athos taking sudden objection to it halfway through, and Aramis had to duck an unexpected swipe at his head.

"Hey," he chided gently. "Less of that. I'm trying to help here." He didn't think his words had gone in, Athos seemed to be staring at things only visible to himself, mumbling to himself incoherently.

Halfway through the day there was a knock on the door. Aramis had locked it again automatically when Porthos had left for the garrison, although the chances of Athos trying to make a run for it now seemed slim. To his surprise it was Porthos.

"Hello. Wasn't expecting you back so soon."

Porthos smiled. "Treville asked how Athos was getting on. When I said it was pretty much crisis point he told me to come back and for us both to take as much time as we need with him." He peered at Aramis' face with a frown, noticing that his eye was swelling with the beginnings of a bruise. "What happened to you?" 

Aramis gave a rueful laugh. "Athos might look weak as a kitten, but there's nothing wrong with his right hook. I didn't move fast enough, that's all."

Porthos snorted unsympathetically. "I borrowed these," he declared, holding up a set of leather cuffs. "I figured they might come in handy to stop him hurting himself. Looks like I should have got back sooner. How is he, other than fightable?"

"Not good." Aramis looked solemn. "I can't get him to keep any food down, all he can manage is a few sips of water. And he doesn't recognise me, I think that's maybe why he's getting so angry, he thinks he's surrounded by strangers. He's probably afraid."

Porthos nodded grimly. "At least there's two of us now. Come on."

\--

The next twenty four hours were hellish for everyone. Athos went from bad to worse, swinging between fits of soul wrenching misery where he would sob inconsolably for hours, and bursts of snarling anger where he would try and fight his way free of them. The cuffs turned out to be invaluable at these times. They padded them with towelling to protect his wrists and secured him to the brass bed head, sitting just out of range to endure the next period of unintelligible shouting until Athos screamed himself hoarse and started crying again. 

"No wonder he's never managed this on his own," Porthos said quietly, leaning heavily against Aramis' shoulder as they watched Athos finally sleeping, with considerable relief. "That he's even tried - " he sighed. "We should have done more to help him before," he said guiltily. "Athos was right, covering for him just made it worse."

"I don't think either of us realised how bad he'd got," Aramis admitted. "He hid it well. It's just a shame it took him losing his commission to make him ask for help."

"Do you think Treville will take him back?" Porthos asked, voicing a thought that had been on his mind the whole time. "If he gets himself together?"

Aramis shrugged helplessly. "I honestly don't know. He was pretty final about it. I fear it will need more than Athos getting straight again to make him change his mind. Won't hurt to ask though."

"What worries me is that Athos is doing this thinking that he will," Porthos sighed. "If Treville says no - has Athos got the strength not to just start drinking again?"

"He's got the strength to put himself through this," Aramis said softly, brushing damp hair back from Athos' forehead in an unconsciously tender gesture. "He can do anything if he sets his mind to it. I guess it's up to us to make him see that."

\--

To their relief, Athos finally seemed to have come through the worst of it and spent the best part of another day asleep. 

Aramis and Porthos still took turns watching over him just in case, but the danger point had safely passed, and when he eventually woke up, groggy and aching, they were heartily glad to find that he was once more aware of his surroundings.

"How long have I been out?" Athos asked, wincing as his throat protested, and cupping his hands gratefully around the warm soothing drink that Aramis passed him.

"Best part of two and a half days," Porthos said, sitting on the end of the bed and beaming at him. "Right pain in the arse you were."

Athos ducked his head, but the force of Porthos' grin was such that he could still sense it. 

"I'm sorry," Athos murmured. "I can only imagine how awful I was."

"Gave Aramis a black eye an' all," Porthos continued cheerfully. Athos looked up in surprise, and winced when he saw the blossoming bruise. 

"Christ, did I really? I'm so sorry."

"You're forgiven," Aramis smiled. "Porthos shut up and stop trying to make him feel bad." 

"I'm not," Porthos objected. "I'm trying to make him laugh." Athos already had a reluctant smile playing around his lips, and Aramis realised with some surprise that Porthos' approach seemed to be working.

"How do you feel?" Aramis asked. 

"Like I've been through a laundry mangle," Athos sighed. He considered. "Clearer though. It feels like - as if something's been lifted from me, perhaps." 

"Now you just have to stick to it," Porthos reminded him, and Athos nodded heavily.

"I'll need you to watch me," he ventured. Both of you. Don't let me slip back into bad habits."

"We'll watch you like a hawk," Porthos agreed, and rummaged under the bed for a moment. "And if you give us any trouble, there's always these." He dangled the leather cuffs in front of Athos and to his satisfaction surprised a genuine laugh out of him. 

"I'm definitely not going to ask where they came from," Athos declared. "Or why they were under Aramis' bed."

\--

At Aramis' insistence, Athos remained living there for several weeks. More often than not Porthos stayed as well, and while Athos knew they were keeping an eye on him, he was grateful for the company. They muddled along well enough together, with only minor arguments resulting from the prolonged proximity.

It had been a few days before they let Athos venture out again. Their insistence on accompanying him was such that he asked them scathingly if they thought he would make a dive into the nearest tavern, but as that had been precisely what was in the back of their minds, no one had laughed.

It was a good couple of weeks before he finally escaped their attentive supervision and found himself walking the streets of the city alone. Both Aramis and Porthos had had to return to their normal duties by now, and Athos had taken the opportunity to wander out by himself. 

The lure of the various inns still tugged at him as he went past, but he found for now at least he could resist it. He'd always been a solitary drinker in any case, so it wasn't the conviviality of the experience he was missing. He'd drunk to numb his memories, and he'd drunk to forget his guilt, and by the time he'd found that that guilt was misplaced it was too late to stop. He'd needed to drink to function, and for a long time he had. 

It had been an insidious decline. His reactions got slower, his hangovers got worse. He'd had to drink more, and start from the moment he awoke, to feel even half alive. Part of him hadn't really cared what happened, assuming fatalistically that one day he just wouldn't wake up, his body abused beyond bearing. He'd half welcomed it.

Losing his commission had been a harsh awakening. He'd pushed things too far, and he knew it, but it was Treville's reasons for asking for his resignation that had been the most sickening shock.

Treville had spelt it out, baldly, that if Athos wanted to get himself killed that was his business, but that the way he was going it was only a matter of time before he got someone else killed, and that was something Treville could not allow. 

The thought that his own negligence might have ended not with his own funeral, but that of perhaps Aramis or Porthos, had made Athos sick to his stomach, and determined, finally, to do something about it.

That he had made it through the initial withdrawal period at all had come as a slight surprise, and for now Athos was full of resolve and good intentions. He knew from past experience how quickly those could slip though, and it was one of the reasons he hadn't been too hasty in moving back to his own lodgings. 

Having Aramis and Porthos around him helped, he found. They were a good tempered distraction during the day, and reassuring company through the long nights. 

Waking alone, Athos might have been tempted, just to get himself through the dark hours of the soul. Waking next to Aramis or Porthos, or across the room within earshot of their breathing, as they had settled into a rotational sharing of the bed, he found it was infinitely easier to relax back into sleep knowing he wasn't alone.

\--

When a month had passed, Aramis and Porthos had approached Treville with the tentative suggestion that Athos might be reinstated as a Musketeer. 

Treville, although sympathetic to their cause and to Athos' plight, had remained firm.

"I made my decision," he told them gravely. "And my decision stands. I'm glad to hear that Athos has turned the corner, and I sincerely wish him well, you know that. But I've already given him more chances than he deserved. Who's to say if I relent he won't be back to his old habits another month from now? If he hits a bad patch, or that wife of his shows up again? No, it's too soon, and in any case the paperwork is filed. Athos is no longer a Musketeer, if he wants to be reinstated he will have to earn a commission like anyone else." 

"So you're not saying never?" Aramis clarified, kicking Porthos in the ankle to forestall the angry outburst he could tell was about to be unleashed.

Treville sighed. "At one time Athos was the best of us. If you think I let him go lightly, then you understand nothing." 

"But what can he _do_?" Porthos demanded, unable to keep quiet any longer. "Kicking his heels all day's the quickest way to drive him back to it, out of sheer boredom."

"He's an intelligent man, there's any number of things he could turn his hand to," Treville said. "If you're really asking me, my advice would be for him to sign up for the cavalry or the infantry, either would be glad to have him as an officer. He has not been disgraced remember, there is no stain on his character. Unless you have told anyone else, then no one outside this room knows I asked for his resignation. If he distinguishes himself in the service of one of those - well. It's possible the King would offer him a new commission, if he let it be known that was what he wanted." 

Treville looked shrewdly at them. " _Is_ that what he wants, incidentally?" he asked. "I notice that it's not Athos himself asking me for his position back, and he is many things but not a coward. Does he know you are here petitioning on his behalf?"

Aramis and Porthos exchanged an awkward look. 

"Not as such, no," Aramis muttered, embarrassed. Treville, to his surprise, smiled at them both.

"He has good friends in you two," Treville said quietly. "Look after him."

"We will." Porthos nodded, swallowing hard. Aramis took his arm and lead him from the room, and they walked back to his lodgings in silence.

Athos took the news rather better than they had expected, although scolded them for their intervention.

"I will not beg," he told them. "And I will not have anyone beg for me. I deserved my punishment, and Treville is right. While forgiveness can sometimes be given freely, respect and honour must be earned." 

"Will you join the wider army, as he suggests?" Aramis asked. 

Athos sighed. "I'm not sure. I think I will wait a while, and consider what may best be done." Unexpectedly, he put his arms around both their shoulders. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For trying."

\--

The following week, Porthos and Aramis revealed that they, along with what felt like half the garrison, were being sent off on a covert mission that night to carry out some sensitive business on behalf of the King.

Treville not having specifically instructed them not to share information with Athos, they would both have been perfectly willing to tell him the details, but he wouldn't let them.

"Were your instructions confidential?" he asked mildly.

"Well, yes." Aramis admitted. "But that hardly means you."

"You can't have one rule for someone and one for everybody else," Athos pointed out. "Even me." He gave them a rueful smile. "When will you be back?"

"Before midnight, with any luck," Porthos said, strapping on his sword belt. "If things go according to plan."

"You had to say that, didn't you?" Aramis laughed. "Tempting fate with a woeful disregard for my peace of mind."

Porthos grinned. "Nah, we'll be okay. It might all be hush-hush but it's routine enough."

"I wish I was going with you," Athos sighed. Not only because he was getting thoroughly bored, but because he worried about them when he wasn't there. "Be careful," he added, knowing it was both futile and ridiculous.

"We'll be back, don't you worry," Aramis told him warmly, guessing the direction of his thoughts.

"Yeah, we'll turn up cold and tired and grumpy and you'll wish we hadn't." Porthos eyed him speculatively. "And hungry. We're bound to be hungry."

Athos snorted. "Am I your wife now then, to have a meal waiting for your return?" he drawled, and Porthos grinned. 

"There are worse jobs."

\--

Midnight came and went, and Athos tried not to give in to the nagging worry that something had gone wrong. He told himself sternly that it was futile speculating when he knew none of the facts. Perhaps they had had to go further than anticipated. Perhaps their contact had been delayed and they'd had to wait. He knew as well as any how missions could go suddenly awry.

Even if they had run into trouble, Athos had complete faith in their ability to look after themselves, not to mention the fact that they were hardly alone. It would be a brave ambush that took on half the regiment at once.

One o'clock, then two o'clock. Athos heard the church clock strike the hours, and found himself pacing the room anxiously. The sensible thing would be to assume they were holed up somewhere for the night and to go to bed himself, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep.

Half past three, and Athos was dozing in front of the fire with his head propped in his hand when the rattle of the door jerked him awake. He was on his feet in an instant, noting with a flood of relief that both of them, at first glance at least, were unharmed.

He'd imagined they would be surprised to find him still up and now felt a slight flush of embarrassment at his groundless and nervous fancies - but as Athos took in their grim expressions he realised that something, after all, had gone wrong.

"What happened?" he asked, realising even as he said it that they probably shouldn't tell him. Neither man objected though, glad to offload their troubles.

"Fucking disaster," Porthos said bluntly, throwing his cloak and hat onto a chest and fumbling off his weapons belts with a tired impatience.

Athos looked at Aramis with raised eyebrows, hoping for a more coherent explanation.

"We were supposed to be escorting a deputation to meet with the Spanish foreign minister," Aramis explained wearily. "There were to be talks. You know how close we have been skirting lately, to war between our countries. Louis, it seems, is still prepared to negotiate a peace if possible."

"The talks did not go well?" Athos hazarded.

"The talks didn't happen at all," Porthos growled. "We were set upon by bandits."

"Bandits?" Athos echoed incredulously. "That took on nearly twenty mounted soldiers?"

Porthos shook his head disgustedly. "Weren't bandits, were they? Turned out it was the Spanish lot, taking a different route from what we'd been told. They thought they was being attacked. So did we. Six people died, including the fucking Spanish minister, before we realised what was actually happening. If it hadn't been for Aramis being able to translate what the other bastards were yelling, we'd probably have fought the lot to the death."

Athos was beginning to think that 'fucking disaster' was a very neat précis of events after all. But it still didn't make sense.

"I don't understand," Athos frowned. "I can see how there might have been confusion, armed men meeting unexpectedly on a dark road. But why did you think they were bandits? Or that you were under attack?"

Aramis shook his head helplessly. "Someone fired on us. And someone else yelled that we were being attacked by bandits. And don't ask me who, because thinking back now I can't place the voice at all." 

"Tell him the rest," Porthos muttered, easing off his boots with a sigh of relief, and brushing mud from his breeches.

Aramis looked uncomfortable. "Once we'd all finally realised what was happening and stopped trying to kill each other, we demanded to know why they'd fired on us."

"And?"

"And they claimed that we fired on them first."

"Which we didn't," Porthos put in. "Obviously. Being fine upstanding citizens, and also not fucking stupid."

Aramis sighed. "The ministers we were escorting refused to believe them, and claimed the whole thing was a trap. The Spanish claimed the same thing, not unreasonably, given their own minister had been one of the casualties. Meaning, political disaster and a cock up of immense proportions. Treville hit the roof when we came back, and he'll have to face King and Cardinal tomorrow. We'll be lucky if we don't all join you out of a job," he finished gloomily.

Athos shook his head. "You acted in good faith, he'll know that. And by the sounds of it, it was thanks to you that things weren't worse."

"They were bad enough, trust me," Aramis muttered.

Athos looked thoughtful. "Are you saying - that someone fired on _both_ sides?" he asked.

"I'm saying nothing." Aramis shook his head. "Because I can prove nothing. But someone definitely fired on us, and all I can offer is that the Spanish say the same thing. It stinks. But of what, and to what end, I can't say." 

"Someone wants this war to happen, maybe," Porthos suggested.

"Maybe. Or to discredit the Musketeers?" Aramis shrugged. "They've certainly done a good job of it, if that was their aim."

"I'm sure all will look better in the morning," Athos reassured him. "Have something to eat, and get some rest. You both look exhausted."

"I couldn't eat a thing," said Aramis, looking doleful.

"Speak for yourself," Porthos declared indignantly, sitting down at the table. "I'm starving."

Athos pushed the food he'd prepared towards him and Porthos grinned appreciatively. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to apply for the position of my wife?" he asked.

Athos looked amused. "I think I feel a headache coming on."

\-- 

The news was not good. Athos had waited with a certain anxiety to hear what the fall out of the previous night's events would be, and Aramis and Porthos returned the following evening in low spirits.

"We've been thrown out of the palace," Porthos announced with a gloomy resentment.

Athos stared at him. "Whatever do you mean?"

Aramis sighed. "Richelieu has taken the opportunity to convince his Majesty that this screw up means the Musketeers are incompetent, and can no longer be trusted with guarding his personage." 

"Well who is guarding it then?" Athos demanded. "Sending all his guards away is hardly going to make him safer."

"The Red Guard," Porthos growled darkly. "The Cardinal saw his chance and took it."

"Saw it, or made it?" Athos wondered, looking between them speculatively. "You thought that skirmish last night was a deliberate set-up."

"We can't prove it," Aramis sighed. "And it just looks like sour grapes to keep saying as much." He slumped into a chair and rubbed his face. "You're right though. I don't like this, not one bit."

"It'll blow over, surely," Athos said. "The King changes his mind more often than the wind changes direction. One slip from that bunch of reprobates and he'll be screaming for his Musketeers to come back."

Porthos nodded. "That's what Treville reckons. Told us to keep our heads down for now and not make a fuss."

"So - just a question of waiting it out then?" 

Aramis shook his head. "Richelieu's not a fool. If he has engineered this he'll know his window of opportunity may not be long. Whatever he's got planned, he'll be prepared to strike soon."

"You think you know what it is." Athos had been watching them shrewdly, and while Porthos seemed cross but fatalistic about it all, Aramis seemed far more troubled.

Aramis hesitated. "Not the details, but I suspect it concerns the Queen." He met Athos' immediately sceptical glare without flinching. "You know as well as I do he's got it in for her. And now - well, she's more vulnerable than ever at the moment."

Athos gave him a stony look. "Richelieu has his faults, but he generally does have the best interests of France at heart, however dubious his methods of execution. With this impending birth, the Queen has surely secured her position."

Aramis looked unconvinced, and flicked a wary glance at Porthos. "Porthos, why don't you go and pick us up something for supper," he said, injecting a cheerfulness into his voice that he didn't feel. "A pie or something."

Porthos' initial lack of enthusiasm at this suggestion changed as soon as he realised Aramis was prepared to pay for it, and took the proffered coins with a nod. 

"You've not told him then," Athos murmured, as soon as Porthos had gone. "I did wonder."

Aramis shook his head. "I've taken your advice to heart, in this at least. The fewer people who know the truth, the safer everybody is. Including Porthos."

"Do you really think she's in danger?" Athos asked with an exasperated sigh. "Or are you just feeling thwarted because this means you will no longer be able to see her, even from a distance?"

"I know you think my involvement is clouding my judgement," Aramis said. "But I swear to you it's not. I'm afraid for her Athos. Without the Musketeers to support her she stands alone against the Cardinal, and if he suspects anything - "

"If he suspects anything the best place for you is as far away from her as possible," Athos snapped. "That child is the King's son, and there can never be any question about it."

"I know." Aramis hung his head. "I do know that. I would never interfere. But you can't expect me to sit idly by while she may be in danger."

"What else can you do?" Athos asked, and narrowed his eyes as Aramis looked at him speculatively. "What?"

"I can do nothing," Aramis said quietly "You, on the other hand..."

"Me! What can I do?" Athos asked, startled. "I am in even less of a position than you to help, surely?"

"As an ex-Musketeer, no, you couldn't," Aramis said. "But - as the Comte de la Fère, you would be entirely within your rights to attend court. The Queen would receive you, I know she would."

Athos looked shaken. "What you are asking - Aramis, there are very few people who know who I am, even now. To do this would be to lay myself bare to all those who know of my shameful history."

"Not shameful, Athos," Aramis protested with a spike of guilt, knowing what he was asking Athos to do stretched the very limits of their friendship. "Milady lives, after all."

Athos just looked at him. "My actions, regardless of the result, were shameful in themselves, and are widely known, whereas my present identity is not. And yes, so she lives, would you have me explain to the court that my wife now makes her living as a murderess?"

"You won't do it then?" 

Athos dropped into the seat opposite him and gave a heavy sigh. "Do you genuinely believe there is a risk to the Queen and her unborn child?"

"I do."

Athos nodded wearily. "Then I have no choice."

"I wouldn't ask this of you if I could think of any other way," Aramis said apologetically.

"Does Porthos know of your plans for me?" Athos asked, rather acidly.

"He knows I intended to suggest it," Aramis admitted. "He was of the opinion you would refuse."

"Porthos apparently has more sense than I do," Athos sighed. "But then, he does not know what I know. And not a day goes past when I wish I didn't."

Aramis ducked his head guiltily. "I'm sorry," he sighed. "And thank you. Don't think I underestimate what it is I am asking you to do, or imagine that I can repay you."

"I am already in your debt," Athos said. "What you and Porthos have done for me is beyond anything I ever truly had the right to ask."

Aramis looked briefly alarmed. "Athos, please don't feel you are indebted to us," he said hastily. "I am not asking you to do this because I think you owe me, please don't think that!"

Athos though, shook his head. "I don't. I will do this for you because it is, perhaps, the right thing to do. And because you are my friend. You have not forsaken me in light of my own poor decisions, I am hardly about to turn my back on you for yours."

At that point Porthos returned bearing a large savoury smelling parcel and for a while at least, conversation turned to happier subjects. 

\--


	3. Chapter 3

Two days later, Athos found himself entering the Louvre in the midst of a chattering, high spirited group of nobles. He was wearing a set of clothes that once upon a time he would have thought nothing of, but now found ridiculously impractical and constricting. He also had a sword at his hip that was considerably more decorative than it was functional, and against all his better judgement had allowed Aramis to style his hair. He caught sight of himself in a mirror and tried not to wince. 

Having spent any number of days on interminable guard duties in the palace that required him to do nothing more taxing than stand in one place for hours at a time, Athos had thought the process of working his way through to the throne room would be reasonably bearable. In fact, it was infinitely more aggravating, as with an actual goal in mind the long, dragging delays became a source of deep irritation. They filed from one chamber to the next, awaiting the King's pleasure and suffering the ignominy of being herded like cattle.

Eventually, after what felt like hours and probably had been, they were admitted to the royal presence. Both King and Queen were present, as was the Cardinal, Athos noted, standing at Louis' right hand and surveying the crowd with an expression as bored as the one Athos suspected was currently on his own face. 

It was a timely reminder to school his features into something more enthusiastic, and remember he was currently supposed to be here by right of birth not duty.

Satisfied that her majesty Queen Anne was currently in good health and no apparent danger, Athos had intended to spend the session merely skulking in the shadows and leave the petitioning to those nobles more eager for royal favour, but unfortunately Louis spotted him and scowled.

"I thought I gave an order no Musketeers were to be admitted to the palace?" Louis demanded in a loud and petulant voice.

To Athos' surprise, it was the Cardinal who provided the explanation, giving Athos a look of deep curiosity.

"Monsieur Athos is, I think you will find sire, also the Comte de la Fère," Richelieu purred quietly. "And if my information is correct, a Musketeer no longer."

"Is this true?" Louis stared at Athos as if his exit from the regiment was some kind of personal affront, regardless of whether it was currently in disgrace.

"Indeed it is, your majesty," Athos confirmed with a deep bow. "I felt that I had been neglecting my duties of late, and that it was time I resumed my appointed place in the world, as my father would have wished."

His respectful words mollified Louis, who promptly lost interest and waved him away again dismissively. The Cardinal though, was still watching him like a cat with a mouse, and Athos was not in the least surprised to find the man materialise at his side shortly afterwards.

"What are you up to?"

Athos gave him a blank expression. "I beg your pardon?"

Richelieu gave him a mirthless smile. "Why did you really leave the Musketeers? I've heard a number of theories, some less complimentary than others."

"If you are insinuating I would lie to my King, I am rather insulted, your Eminence."

"Mmmn. I'm sure you are." Richelieu regarded him thoughtfully, and seemed to come to a decision. "I have a feeling I know what your answer will be, but I find I must make the offer in any case. A man of your abilities would easily find a place in the Red Guard, should he seek one. And might indeed find them more sympathetic to his - vices."

If it had been his habit, Athos would have laughed in his face. As it was, he merely gave the Cardinal impassive eyes.

"Thank you for the offer. But I'm afraid I must respectfully decline."

Richelieu's lips tightened. "As you wish. It is not an offer that will be made twice."

Athos gave him a slight bow of acknowledgement, and moved off as soon as he was able. He could still feel the man's eyes boring into his back, and wondered if he was imagining the air of malice.

Despite his initial inclination to assume Aramis had been over-reacting, Athos was starting to revise his opinion. Judging by his reaction to Athos' presence, Richelieu was definitely up to something. It crossed Athos' mind to wonder whether he should have accepted the Cardinal's offer, on the grounds it would have given him the opportunity to hear things from the inside, but dismissed the idea immediately. Whatever he might say, it was unlikely the Cardinal would have trusted him enough to let Athos hear anything compromising, and besides, the thought of donning a Red Guard uniform, however good the cause, made Athos shudder.

The general audience was drawing to a close and Athos was thinking that at least he would be able to report back to Aramis that all seemed well when to his surprise he was included in a smaller group of men invited to withdraw to an adjacent salon with the King and his ministers. 

It was not an honour that could be refused, and Athos duly made his way in with the rest, feeling the prickle of Richelieu's gaze on him and wondering why he had been included. He had little doubt it had been at the Cardinal's suggestion.

He found out shortly afterwards, when a page approached him with a tray bearing crystal glasses of what Athos could already tell was an extremely expensive brandy.

"No, thank you, not for me," he murmured politely, but suddenly the Cardinal was at his side.

"Come now la Fère, are you refusing to drink the health of your king?" he declared, just loud enough for Louis to turn his head curiously in their direction.

Athos and Richelieu locked eyes, and Athos realised with a sinking heart the trap he had walked into. Speculative, perhaps, on Richelieu's part, but oh so effective.

"Of course not," he muttered politely, and took one of the glasses. Even held at waist height he could smell it, and tried not to flinch. He'd been working on a shaky tolerance for watered wine and weak ale, but this was sharp and strong and full of deadly promise.

He'd been hoping Richelieu would leave it at that, but apparently he was going to stand there and make sure that Athos drank it. He wondered briefly if it was even poisoned, but no, that was hardly likely. He'd selected his own glass from a tray of several, and in any case there was no need. The brandy would do the job just as well. Athos had wondered what those rumours the Cardinal had mentioned had consisted of, and now he suspected he knew.

"Well?" Richelieu prompted, raising his own glass to his nose and inhaling with pleasure. "A rare bottle this, I hope you realise how favoured you are." He drained the glass in one movement and held Athos' eyes, silently challenging him to do the same.

Athos considered his options, and quickly decided there weren't any. If he refused, Louis would take offence, and bar him from the court. To retain any chance of maintaining his presence near the Queen, he would need to gamble everything on his own will being strong enough. 

He lifted the glass, toasted the King, and threw the burning liquid back in one swift gulp.

Richelieu said nothing, merely twitched an eyebrow in what might even have been a slight nod of respect, and silently moved off into the crowd.

Athos took a deep shuddering breath, suddenly aware of the fact he'd broken out in a cold sweat. One hand to his throat, suppressing the urge to cough, he edged around the room until he could slip out into the passage, stumbling round two corners and praying he remembered the layout correctly.

There was a garderobe here, discreetly positioned between two suites of rooms, and Athos banged into it with a shaking relief at finding it unoccupied.

He had meant to make himself vomit, but in the event no inducements were needed. His guts twisting with anxiety and recoiling at the unexpected shock of neat brandy, Athos promptly threw up the contents of his stomach in retching misery. 

Afterwards he leaned weakly against the panelled wall, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand and his watering eyes with the heel of the other. The brandy had stung worse on the way back up than on the way down, and his throat felt like he'd been swallowing fire. The worst of it was, he knew he had to go back, had to straighten his clothes and walk back into the room as if nothing had happened.

It was several minutes before he could face it, but face it he did. With a rigid posture and unbending will, he made himself re-enter the salon and mingle with the favoured few as if nothing had happened.

Hardest of all, he forced himself to select a glass of wine from one of the circulating trays, holding it for the rest of the afternoon like a talisman to ward off the offer of other drinks. 

As the minutes crawled past, the smell of it insinuated its way into his nostrils, started playing on his mind. How soothing it would be, to take just a sip, how calming for his nerves and steadying for his hand.

When the session drew to a close, Athos tipped the contents of his glass into a potted fern and left with undignified speed.

\--

When he walked in the door, Aramis and Porthos could see at a glance something was wrong, and leaped to their feet.

"What happened?" Aramis demanded.

Athos shook his head tiredly, guessing where his fears lay. "The Queen is unharmed, and as far as I can tell, in no immediate danger. Nothing happened."

"Bollocks." Porthos was in front of him, grabbing his shoulders and staring into his face. "Something did. What's wrong? Tell us."

Athos hesitated. The sensible thing would be to tell them. To let himself surrender to their comfort and their scolding would be undignified perhaps, but undeniably tempting. 

"The Cardinal - " he broke off again, and Porthos physically shook him from anxious frustration.

"What? What did that bastard do now?"

"He - I hesitate to say forced, but - contrived, that I was required to - take a drink."

"What sort of a drink?" Aramis asked, looking alarmed.

"Brandy," Athos admitted. "There is little need for alarm, I threw it up again almost straight away," he added quickly.

"Over him I hope," Porthos growled, and Athos gave him a startled smile.

"Sadly not, although that would have been briefly entertaining."

"Oh Athos," Aramis looked stricken. "You shouldn't have."

"It was the only way for me to remain there," Athos said quietly. "If you wish me to keep her Majesty under observation I had no other choice."

Aramis looked even more guilty. "You still could have walked away," he said. "My God, Athos, I never meant you to risk this much, you can't have thought I would want this?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you?" Porthos asked shrewdly. "Really? Because you look like shit." Being of practical mind, he'd immediately fetched a flagon of water, and handed Athos a beakerful that he drank down with a grateful thirst.

"I - " Athos refilled the cup and drank again, trying to muster his thoughts. His head was in a whirl, his vision was occasionally blurring, and everywhere he went he could still smell wine and brandy, as if it was following him.

"Tell us what you need," Porthos said more gently. "Is there anything we can do?"

Athos took a deep breath. "Distract me," he said. "Talk to me, or something. Make me forget - forget how much I really need a drink right now."

To his surprise Porthos darted forward and enveloped him in a hug that nearly knocked him off his feet.

At first Athos struggled in surprise, but Porthos refused to let him go, and Athos suddenly realised how tightly he was still wound when he didn't have to be. He was home now. He was safe. Without words, Porthos was showing him he could let down his defences.

With a shaky sigh Athos half-crumpled into Porthos' embrace, hanging onto him now for dear life. After a second he felt Aramis move up behind him and add his arms to the hug, so that Athos was pressed between them in a quietly comforting tangle of warmth.

When Athos finally pushed them away they let him go without protest, glad to see that he looked a little stronger.

Flustered but happier, Athos set about changing his clothes and scrubbing his face and beard clean until he could no longer taste the lingering taint of vomit and brandy.

They settled in the bedroom where they played round after round of cards as the best way to keep Athos' mind occupied, until he finally fell asleep through sheer mental exhaustion.

They pulled the covers over him and stood there watching him sleep.

"This is all my fault," Aramis sighed.

"Don't be daft," Porthos objected. "You're not responsible for what sick ploys Richelieu comes up with."

"I asked Athos to do this," Aramis said. "I am responsible, for so much. You have no idea."

Porthos patted him on the back. "I'm not stupid you know," he said. "I know you have feelings for her. But Athos isn't stupid either. If he took a risk it was a calculated one. He'll be okay. We'll make sure he is."

"I never wanted this," Aramis whispered. "Everything could have been undone today, and for what? What if I was wrong, what if there was no threat after all?"

"Athos seemed to think there might be something in it," Porthos pointed out. "Enough to stick with it, enough to insist on going back."

Aramis nodded slowly. "You're right." He drew himself up, hand instinctively going to the cross around his neck. "We should have more faith that the Lord will see to a just outcome."

Porthos snorted. "I dunno about the Lord. But I'd put money on Athos. Every time."

Aramis smiled, tucking the blanket more snugly round Athos' sleeping form. "Fortunately, the two things are not mutually exclusive."

\--

To the surprise and concern of his companions, the next morning Athos prepared to return to the Louvre.

"You don't have to do this," Aramis protested, still feeling guilty that Athos was risking his wellbeing at his behest.

"If I don't, it makes all I endured yesterday rather pointless," Athos said dryly. "Besides. I confess that at first I thought you might be worrying over nothing, but in all truth there should have been no real issue to my presence there. And yet within the space of a few hours the Cardinal sought to first bribe me, and when that failed, to neutralise me. Now that might just have been spite at my refusing his offer, but I don't think so. He wanted me out of the way, which means you're right, he is up to something. And I intend to find out what, if only to even the score."

Aramis nodded understanding, and Porthos rested a hand on Athos' shoulder. "Be careful," he said. "And let us know if you need back-up. Don't take risks you don't have to."

"Would I?" Athos looked innocent, and Porthos grinned.

"Yes."

"I doubt there is much that could befall me in the middle of the royal court, but I note your concerns." Athos smiled back at him, touched by their protectiveness.

"I hate being hamstrung like this," Aramis sighed. "By rights we should be at their majesties' side."

Athos settled his hat, and gave him an oblique look from under the brim. "Then it's a good thing you have a secret weapon," he declared with a smile.

\--

While few people had taken much notice of him the day before, Athos discovered that in his absence a certain amount of gossip appeared to have taken place. To his discomfort, he found himself if not exactly the centre of attention, then certainly the subject of a lot of covert glances and muted conversations. 

He suspected his initial appearance had confused a lot of them, used to seeing his face around but not in such a setting. Now things had fallen into place for them, and he had been very firmly outed as the infamous Comte de la Fère.

Athos assumed they would now shun him, being known for having one's wife strung up not being in the best taste even for French aristocracy, but it appeared being notorious came with its own cachet. He was approached several times by curious fops whom he simply scowled at until they went away, but also to his surprise, by several eligible women, making eyes at him in the most alarming fashion.

He wondered what it was in the female nature that made them think a man who'd already allegedly had one wife killed should be a good prospect for marriage.

He was fending off the latest trio when to his surprise Queen Anne herself came to his rescue, breezing up to his group with two ladies in waiting in tow.

"Athos. How good to see you." She gave him a genuine smile, and acknowledged the deep bow he made.

"And to see you, your Majesty," Athos murmured. "May I say you are looking very well."

She was officially six months along, although Athos thought privately it was closer to seven. He banished the stray thought hurriedly, in case it should somehow show on his face.

"Is it true then, that you have left the Musketeers?" she asked quietly, looking concerned.

Athos sighed. "Yes, your Majesty. Not quite what I had envisaged for my life, but largely of my own doing."

She gave him a penetrating look. "You wish to return then? You would go back, given the chance?"

Athos hesitated. "In a heartbeat," he confessed. "But such an opportunity is unlikely to arise."

Anne nodded dolefully. "I would put in a word for you, but my husband is forbidding anyone to even speak of the Musketeers right now." 

It was the Queen's turn to hesitate, looking around a little nervously at the hovering ladies in waiting. "Tell me, how is - " she broke off with a regretful sigh as the looming figure of Cardinal Richelieu swept past. "How is d'Artagnan getting on?" she asked brightly, in what struck Athos as a distinct swerve in intended topic. "I hope he is not finding the realities of border warfare too hard."

"Last I heard he was doing well," Athos nodded. "He is due to return shortly, all things being equal. Porthos and Aramis will be glad to have him back, especially with my departure leaving them a man down." He eyed the way she flushed slightly at the mention of Aramis' name, and took pity on her. "They, also, are both well," he said quietly. "Although frustrated, at not being able to discharge their duties here."

Anne smiled at him with barely restrained joy. "Thank you," she murmured sincerely, and Athos gave another slight bow as she tactfully withdrew. 

"Such a shame, what happened with the Musketeers," drawled a voice behind Athos, and he turned to discover Richelieu had circled round and snuck up on them. "Still, such incompetence can rarely go unpunished for long."

"Really? I heard it was a deliberate attempt to foster discord with the Spanish," Athos said off-handedly, deciding it wouldn't hurt to let Richelieu think this was an openly circulating rumour.

The Cardinal though, just sneered at him. "Incompetence or treachery, it takes very little to rattle the Spanish," he said dismissively. "They are predisposed to it."

"You should not speak so in the presence of your Queen," Athos said mildly. 

Richelieu glared at him. "Who are you, to tell me how to speak? There is war coming, you mark my words. Sooner or later, it will happen. Will the French people trust a Spanish Queen then?"

Athos stared. "You can't want war to happen," he said in slight disbelief. "You talk as if it was a certainty."

"As a soldier, you should welcome the thought of being granted the opportunity to die for your King," said Richelieu with a certain relish. "Or does the thought frighten you?"

"I am not afraid to die," Athos said calmly. "But a war that could be avoided is a waste of lives. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives. That's more than a waste, it's a crime and a sin."

Richelieu curled his lip in contempt, and was about to walk away when he stopped and looked back. "I knew your father, you know," he called to Athos. "Quite well. He was a drunkard, too."

Athos froze, but when he spoke, his voice was steady and deceptively light.

"My father, my wife - some days it must feel like my entire family is regrettably going out of their way to let you down and disappoint you."

Richelieu glared at him, but his words were silken steel. "Ah yes, your wife," he purred. "I heard you let her live, in the end."

Athos conceded a stiff nod, and Richelieu gave him a mirthless smile.

"Sentiment, in a soldier. Now that truly is regrettable."

This time he really did walk off, leaving Athos feeling lightheaded and nauseous. 

Athos realised he was standing near a table set out with refreshments for the gathered guests, and stared with longing at the various glasses and decanters arrayed on trays. 

As his eyes roamed over the seductive options, he heard a woman across the room laugh loudly and couldn't stop himself from spinning round, heart thumping. It had been Milady's laugh, he would swear to it. But it couldn't be, here of all places, it was impossible.

Above the chatter of the echoey room, which had several sets of doors opening onto the lawns beyond, he heard the laugh again, and scanned the crowd intently until he located the source.

A red-haired woman in a green satin gown, dissimilar in every way apart from her laugh. He felt himself sag with a mixture of relief and something that might have been disappointment, if he'd cared to examine it closely. He kept looking over at the woman until she laughed again, satisfying himself that was all it had been. Milady had been brought to his mind, that was all. 

Across the room the woman glanced up and caught him staring, and Athos turned away in embarrassment. This unfortunately meant he was looking at the refreshment table again.

Just one drink. Just one, to stave off this heartsick and confused longing, for a woman he could not even bear to be with. It would be virtually medicinal, a tonic for the nerves. Who could blame him? Who would even have to know?

"Hello."

Athos started guiltily, and snatched his hand back from where it seemed to have been heading entirely of its own accord towards a glass of wine. To his surprise, he discovered he was being addressed by the woman he'd been staring at.

"Hello," he echoed, realising with some embarrassment that she'd probably mistaken his staring for interest. Still, her timing couldn't have been better, and he smiled at her gratefully.

"I was wondering my lord," she said coyly, "if you might escort me for a turn around the gardens?"

It was a beautiful day and many people were doing exactly that, promenading the gravel paths in small groups and pairs, primarily to show off the latest fashions, or in some cases their latest conquests. As the biggest subject of gossip in the room, Athos was briefly amused to consider the fact he was probably thought something of a prize.

Ordinarily he would have politely declined, but the Queen had moved outside herself, to recline in a richly draped pavilion set up on the lawn, and he reasoned it would be easier to keep an eye on her from the garden.

"I would be honoured," Athos agreed, and offered the lady his arm. "Although I believe we have not been introduced. My name is - "

"You are the Comte de la Fère, my lord" she interrupted with a smile. "I am well aware."

"Call me Athos," he suggested, and her eyes widened a little in scandalised pleasure at the immediate invitation to such informality. "May I know your name?" he added.

To his surprise she winced. "You have to promise not to laugh."

"Whyever would I laugh?"

"Most people do, when they hear it."

"Well, I give you my word that I won't," Athos smiled, as they stepped out of the open doors and onto the terrace. 

"Alright. It's Amaranth." She fixed him with a look that suggested her faith in his promise not to laugh was tenuous at best. "Lady Amaranth de Guillon."

"Well. That's quite a mouthful," Athos murmured, and she gave a squeak of laughter, fanning herself furiously to cover the spreading blush.

"What's wrong with that, anyway?" Athos continued, as they moved down the shallow steps towards the lawn. It's very poetic. _Lady of all chaste love, to thee it is, We bring these amaranths,_ " he quoted, and she smiled at him, adjusting her hold on his arm to a more companionable one.

"You are full of surprises, Monsieur Athos," she murmured. 

"You have no idea." 

They proceeded to stroll slowly up and down the garden paths, Athos steering them unobtrusively down ways that kept the Queen's pavilion in sight. Amaranth appeared to be entirely happy to fill the silence with enough conversation for both of them, for which Athos was grateful. 

He listened with half an ear, letting the rest of his mind muse on the question of whether there was any real danger to the Queen, or whether they were making something out of nothing. She seemed entirely safe here within the palace, and he couldn't imagine how harm could befall her surrounded by so many people. Admittedly, the guards were currently all working for the Cardinal, but most were honest enough men, and Athos assumed even Red Guards would surely baulk at outright treason.

They came to the end of their second circuit of the grounds, and as clouds were gathering and the royal party withdrawing to their quarters, Athos and Amaranth moved by common consent towards the doors back into the palace.

"You don't say much, do you?" Amaranth remarked, patting his arm.

"I'm sorry," Athos replied. "You must find me terribly dull."

"On the contrary, I was just thinking you must find me terribly annoying."

"Not at all. You are very pleasant company, Lady Amaranth."

"You know, my friends call me Mara." She looked at him speculatively. 

"And do I count as a friend?"

Mara laughed. "Yes, I think so. Will I see you at the picnic tomorrow?" she asked hopefully.

Athos looked blank. "Picnic?"

"Oh yes. It's the first of the festivities for the Queen's birthday next week. It's to be a hunting party and picnic. Very exclusive."

"Hunting? Surely the Queen in her current condition will not be riding?"

"We're not made of china you know," Mara chided him. "Even with child."

Athos pursed his lips. "Whose idea was this?"

"The Cardinal's I believe," she told him. "Her majesty is quite excited about it. She's hardly left the palace for months poor thing."

Athos regarded her thoughtfully. "Would you be able to get me an invitation?"

Mara's eyes sparkled, and she hid a smile behind her fan. "I expect so. You are an intriguing prospect, Monsieur Athos. I should like to get to know you better."

Athos hesitated. He suspected Aramis would have had no qualms in playing her for as long as was necessary, and he really needed an invitation to this picnic - but part of him shied away from a deception of this nature. To encourage someone's affections whilst simultaneously lying to them - he knew first hand how painfully that could turn out.

"I find I must be honest with you," Athos said quietly. "I am a married man."

Mara looked startled. "Talk has it that you are a widower," she protested.

"The rumours are false," Athos said. "My wife lives. We are - somewhat estranged. But I must make it clear to you that I am no prospect for marriage."

"And yet you wish to accompany me tomorrow? I should make it equally clear monsieur, that my virtue is not open to negotiation."

Athos flushed red and Mara gave a quietly triumphant laugh to see it. "You see, I can be just as blunt. And I have shocked you."

Athos shook his head. "It never hurts to be clear about where one stands. I have my reasons for wanting to attend this picnic tomorrow, but I will not lie to you to get there."

Mara cocked her head. "Is it another woman?"

"Not in the sense you mean. My company, such as it is, would be all yours."

She sighed. "Oh very well, I'll get you your invitation. You probably deserve it for listening to me prattle on about peacocks all afternoon."

"Very interesting birds, peacocks," Athos smiled, and she laughed.

"We leave at eleven from the royal stableyard. I'll make sure you are expected. Don't be late. Have you done much hunting?"

Athos was watching Richelieu following the King indoors, and nodded slowly. "Yes, I have been known to."

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Athos quotes is 'A Vow To Heavenly Venus', by Joachim du Bellay, which is also where the fic title comes from.


	4. Chapter 4

After the events of the previous day, Aramis and Porthos had awaited Athos' return in some trepidation, but were pleasantly surprised to find him in good spirits.

"Would you believe me," he began, a slight smile on his lips, "If I told you I had an assignation?"

"No," said Porthos immediately, while Aramis just laughed. 

Athos shook his head at their woeful lack of faith. "Well, I have. There is to be a hunting party tomorrow in honour of the Queen's birthday, to which I have fortuitously been invited by a most charming young lady."

Porthos grinned. "Are you going to take this one to the morgue?"

Athos gave him a quelling look, but Aramis cut across them, worried about something else entirely. 

"A hunting party? Surely the Queen will not be riding? In her condition it can hardly be wise?"

"I was of much the same opinion," Athos sighed. "More so, since the whole thing appears to have been suggested by the Cardinal, although I suppose she may be transported in a carriage, and the event promises to be more of a picnic than anything. Still, I think it would not hurt if you two were to be somewhere close at hand. Unfortunately I don't know the route, but I imagine you will have no difficulty following us."

They agreed readily, and plans were laid.

"Even if nothing happens, it'll be worth it to watch Athos making awkward conversation with a lovestruck maiden," Aramis remarked to Porthos, smirking.

Athos took the teasing with resigned good humour. "She is fully aware of my intentions, or should I say lack of," he told them. "There will be no misunderstandings, so you can stop laughing."

Porthos patted him on the shoulder. "You know we don't mean it," he said. "How has it been, today? How are you feeling?"

"The cravings come and go," Athos admitted. "One thing I have proved is that the best thing for them is distraction. If I can concentrate on something else, I forget I want a drink." He sighed. "I never imagined it would be easy, but it frightens me to realise how much I'd come to use it as a crutch. The physical side of things I can cope with, but it's having to deal with the rest of life without having it to turn to that seems hardest right now."

Not to mention the fact it was a weakness the Cardinal was fully aware of and determined to exploit, he thought ruefully, but that seemed too self-pitying to say out loud. Laying his feelings bare like this did not come naturally to him, but Athos recognised the dangers of keeping too much bottled up. If he was going to trust Aramis and Porthos to help him, he had to trust them with everything.

"You're doing well," Aramis murmured. "Never forget that. Don't sell yourself short."

Athos nodded gratefully. "Just keep me busy, eh?" 

Porthos beamed. "Oh, well, in that case you can make supper."

\--

Upon arrival at the royal stableyard Athos was uneasy to discover that the Queen did indeed attend riding along with the main party, and was being helped into her saddle from a mounting block by two attendant grooms. 

Still, there was nothing he could do about it, hardly being in a position to protest about the Queen's personal arrangements. No longer a Musketeer, he was unable to object on grounds of safety and had not been a member of the court long enough to warrant offering such unsolicited advice. He might still have tried it, but the Cardinal was hovering, as was King Louis and Athos knew both would take against any perceived interference.

Athos turned his attention instead to Lady de Guillon, who was waiting for him as promised, with an attendant page bearing a splendid falcon.

Athos admired the bird, before producing a ribbon-tied package that he presented solemnly to Mara.

"I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of bringing you a small token of my thanks," he murmured. 

"You are very kind," Mara exclaimed in surprise. "I had not thought to be receiving favours, after your most disappointing revelation yesterday." Her eyes were laughing as she said it, and Athos gave a small bow of amused contrition.

"I reasoned you should at least get something for your pains," he explained. "Given that it's unlikely to be my scintillating conversation."

Mara untied the package to reveal a gorgeous blue and green shawl, stitched with a pattern of peacock feathers, and laughed in delight. "I adore it," she declared, fastening it immediately around her shoulders. "You are a man of exceedingly good taste."

"I'm just grateful you didn't express a fondness for leopards," Athos smiled. "They might have been harder to come by."

They mounted up and joined the throng passing out through the gates and into the roadway. It was at this point that a new worry struck Athos.

"Are those the only guards?" he asked in a low voice, indicating the four members of the Red Guard accompanying them. Two rode at the head of the party and two near the King and Queen, but other than that they were unescorted. Athos had never seen a royal expedition with such lax security before, and it horrified him. Never mind any plots that the Cardinal might or might not be spinning, like this they were vulnerable to every disgruntled member of the populace as well.

Mara shrugged. "It's a birthday party, not a war party," she smiled. "What's the worse that could happen?"

Athos raised an eyebrow. "I have a friend who would really hate the fact you felt the need to say that," he remarked.

They rode on, heading deep into the royal parkland. Athos trusted that somewhere behind them Aramis and Porthos were following at a discreet distance. He'd have liked to have been closer to the Queen, but there was a distinct pecking order and he and Mara were near the back. At least the pace was gentle, no faster than a steady walk, and the Queen's horse was accompanied by two grooms walking on either side.

The sun was shining and everything seemed peaceful, and as an uneventful hour slipped past Athos relaxed a fraction. This didn't mean he lowered his vigilance though, and was only lending half an ear to Mara discussing the varying qualities of different breeds of hunting hawk.

"Of course hard to obtain, but the very best bird is a griffin, don't you agree?"

"Yes, absolutely." Athos said absently, then frowned and looked round. "A what?"

Mara smirked at him. "I knew you weren't listening."

"Sorry." Athos winced at his own rudeness. "My apologies."

Mara studied him. "Do you really think we're in danger?" she asked finally.

"No, no, of course not," Athos said hurriedly, not wanting to cause alarm. "We're perfectly safe."

Mara sighed. "And after all your promises not to offer me falsehoods," she said, softly but pointedly.

Athos hesitated. It crossed his mind that she might even be an agent of the Cardinal, sent to keep an eye on him, but his instincts said she could be trusted. And he couldn't go through life suspecting everyone around him of treachery, it was too tiring.

"Very well," he said quietly, nudging his horse closer to converse discreetly. "Yes, I believe there may be some danger. But trust me when I say that I honestly don't think it is to you."

"Then who?" Mara asked immediately. 

"I would rather not say, without proof," Athos told her.

The company had reached a clearing where tables and tents had been set out by servants sent ahead that morning, and everyone dismounted to enjoy a brief rest and refreshment before the hunting began.

Athos helped Mara down, and she leaned in to him. "Is it anything to do with the men following us?" she whispered. "I noticed them in the woods to either side a while back."

"No, they're with us," Athos reassured her, then hesitated. "Wait, you saw men on _both_ sides of the trail?"

"Yes. Two men to the left of the trail in blue, and another two to the right."

"It couldn't have been the same ones?"

Mara shook her head. "No, the second pair were in green. Blended in, rather. I only noticed them because I heard their dog bark. Who are they?"

Athos was scanning the treeline, but could see no sign of anyone.

"The men in the blue cloaks are friends of mine. The others - I don't know." He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "I'd assumed if anything we would be riding into danger. I hadn't considered it might be following us."

"Who are they following?" Mara asked. "The King?"

"No." Athos made up his mind. "The Queen. I think the Queen may be in danger." He stared over at the closed pavilion that Queen Anne had retired into and sighed. "I wish I could check on her, but I can hardly just walk in."

Mara took his arm and patted it. "Then it's a good thing you've got me. Come on."

\--

As the party prepared to resume their progress, it was Athos who helped the Queen to her horse, the attendant grooms hastily positioning the mounting block as he escorted her from the tent. He ensured she was carefully seated and helped arrange the heavy gold brocade riding cloak around her before rejoining Mara, resplendent in her own peacock blue shawl, hawk held ready on her wrist.

Athos was almost at her side when a great commotion broke out, a snapping and snarling of hunting dogs. It seemed that two strange dogs had burst from the nearby woods and attacked the pack belonging to the King, setting upon them with a murderous frenzy. 

Two men clad in foresters' green now belatedly appeared behind them shouting ineffectually, and to Athos' eyes, stirring the dogs up into a greater state of hysteria. 

It had all happened in a matter of seconds, and very close to the Queen's horse which was dancing skittishly, sidestepping away from the commotion with nervous snorts and rolling eyes. She was visibly struggling to control it, and the grooms tried to circle the threshing tangle of dogs to grab the reins. All might still have been saved, but one of the Red Guards took it upon himself to draw his pistol and fire into the melee at one of the attacking dogs. 

"No!" Athos' protest was too late, and the explosion of a shot so close at hand sent most of the horses shying in alarm. The Queen's horse, already on the verge of panic, promptly bolted in fear. With a shriek of alarm, she clung on desperately as the horse plunged away from the group, and Athos grabbed his own reins, swinging up into the saddle. As he did so two other mounted figures burst from the trees in pursuit.

"Porthos!" Athos yelled, knowing at this point Aramis would not have stopped for the voice of God Himself. He beckoned Porthos over and rode out to meet him, leaning across to murmur something hastily in his ear before following Aramis in pursuit of the Queen's horse.

After the initial confusion others too were starting to follow, including the King who was shouting at everyone to do something. What exactly he expected them to do was not clear, although as long as the Queen kept her seat it should have been simply a matter of waiting for the horse to tire. 

Suddenly though, the horse abruptly stumbled, checking its headlong flight with a whinny of pained protest. It managed to right itself without falling completely, but the Queen was unseated and fell heavily to the grass.

Aramis, who had almost caught up, was still too far back to prevent it happening and howled in outrage and fear, flinging himself from his own horse and racing across the ground.

To his relief the crumpled figure was moving and he flung himself at her feet, reaching out in panic. 

"Your Majesty, are you alright, are you harmed, are - who the hell are you?" As the Queen's heavy shawl fell back, Aramis found himself looking into the eyes of a complete stranger.

"Charming," she said, and he remembered his manners and helped her to her feet in bewilderment. At that point they were joined by Athos, who jumped down beside them and seized her hands guiltily. 

"Mara, are you hurt?" 

She shook her head. "A little bruised, but nothing broken. Fortunately, I had a soft landing," she smiled, and to Aramis' further confusion drew an embroidered cushion out from under her mantle.

Before Aramis could demand angrily what the hell was going on, the King and his entourage arrived, clamouring to know exactly the same thing. 

"I don't understand. Where is my wife?" Louis cried, relieved to find that it was not Anne after all who had fallen from the horse, but now half convinced she had been kidnapped instead.

"I am here, Sire," called a soft voice and everyone turned to find Anne approaching slowly and surely on a horse led by a grinning Porthos. Anne was wrapped in Mara's distinctive blue shawl, and Aramis swung round to stare at Athos, accusing and reluctantly admiring.

"You switched them."

Athos nodded. "I wasn't sure anyone would fall for it," he murmured, "but people see what they expect to see. It was a spur of the moment thing. I had thought they might mean to panic the horse, it would be the simplest means of attacking her while looking blameless. Mara here assured me she would be able to control the horse in such an event. I wasn't expecting a physical trap to have been laid as well," he added grimly, going to poke about in the undergrowth with his boot. 

"This is freshly dug," Athos announced, uncovering a shallow trench stretching right across the path and covered by the grass. "Your Majesty, I am sorry but this was not just an unfortunate accident," he called up to the King. "I believe someone meant to cause harm to the Queen."

"What? That's preposterous! Who could want to hurt her?" Louis spluttered.

"Are the two men back there safely in custody?" Athos asked. "I suggest we ask who paid them. I don't believe for a minute this was a random attack." It hadn't escaped his notice either than it was one of the Cardinal's men who'd been responsible for the shot that had triggered everything, but would be careful of his words before he had more proof in his hands.

Having recaptured and calmed the Queen's own horse, everyone made their way back to the clearing, where a sorry sight awaited them. Both the men were dead, the four Red Guards responsible declaring unanimously that their assailants had proved to be armed, and put up a sudden and vicious attack.

Louis was furious. "Now how are we supposed to know who was behind this?" he demanded. "Why am I constantly surrounded by incompetents?"

"Your Majesty, I believe the earlier attack on the Spanish minister may have been deliberately staged to ensure you would not have your Musketeers on hand at such an event as this," Athos said carefully. "It would then only have been a question of biding their time for a suitable opportunity."

Louis looked stern. "Send a messenger to Treville," he ordered. "I want him waiting for me by the time we return. It seems I may have been hasty after all."

"And Athos, your majesty," the Queen murmured. "It was thanks to his quick thinking that a tragedy was averted. Is he not wasted as a mere member of your court?"

"What? Yes, absolutely. You must return to the regiment, at once," Louis declared. "I insist. Consider yourself recommissioned. No," he said, holding up a hand to forestall whatever Athos had been about to say. "I won’t hear a word of protest. It is your duty to your King."

"Then I accept, most humbly," Athos said with a bow, nodding discreet thanks to the Queen who gave him a fleeting smile, in acknowledgment of a favour returned. 

Aramis and Porthos clapped him heartily on the back, and he smiled at them both with a tired relief. "Well we may not have been able to prove the Cardinal's hand in this, but we saved the Queen," he said quietly. "A good day's work, all told." 

Porthos laughed. "I can't wait to see Richelieu's face when her Majesty returns safe and well, and he hears the Musketeers are back in favour. Please let the King tell him in public."

Behind them the royal party moved off, the Queen already deep in conversation with the Lady Amaranth about suitable rewards for her bravery. Mara cast a glance over her shoulder and caught Athos' eye. They nodded to each other, and exchanged a smile of understanding. 

"She'll probably get a manor house out of this," Porthos guessed. "What do you get?"

"Everything I ever wanted," Athos said quietly. "And more than I deserve."

\--

The next morning Athos found himself in Treville's office, with Aramis and Porthos standing to attention at his back, as if to prevent either party changing their minds.

Treville took a pauldron out of his desk drawer and handed it to Athos, who took it with a grateful nod of thanks and then stared in astonishment to find it was his own.

"I kept it safe for you," Treville said quietly. "I had a feeling you'd be needing it back sooner or later."

Athos nodded, a sudden lump in his throat. "I give you my word Captain, I won’t let you down again," he said.

Treville nodded. "I know."

They took their leave, Aramis and Porthos jubilant and in high spirits. The regiment had been reinstated in the palace, and everything was as it should be.

"Well look who it is," Porthos murmured, staring in surprise at a familiar figure riding in under the arch, and starting to laugh. "Seems we were just in time."

"D’Artagnan!" Aramis called out, and d'Artagnan dismounted and hurried over, pleased to find them all together.

First Porthos and then Aramis embraced him in delight, and then to d'Artagnan's considerable surprise, so did Athos.

D’Artagnan grinned round at them all. "So. What have I missed?"

They looked at each other, and murmured noncommittally. 

"Oh, not much," Athos said. "Nothing important."

"It's been pretty quiet," Aramis agreed.

"Good to have you back. What was it like, being a grown-up solider?" Porthos teased.

D'Artagnan grinned. "Let me stable my horse and I'll come back and tell you all about it. Trust me, we have a lot of drinking to catch up on."

"Ah. About that - " Athos started, but d'Artagnan had already gone. 

Aramis laughed. "Don’t worry. We'll tell him."

"Good to have _you_ back, too," Porthos murmured, shaking Athos' shoulder affectionately.

"Good to _be_ back," Athos said. "Thank you. Both of you. For everything you've done for me over the last few weeks. For never losing faith in me."

"Thank you, too," Aramis said. "For risking yourself more than I had any right to ask."

Athos smiled, and held out his hand, palm down. "One for all?"

Two hands slapped immediately down on his, one after the other, as Aramis and Porthos chorused in laughing agreement. 

"All for one."

\--


End file.
